Under These Lights {fitzsimmons marching band au}

Chapter Two

It was the second day of band camp, and Jemma was almost tripping over her own feet with how fast the band was learning the show in comparison with her conducting.  The clarinet section, now led by her least favorite player Bradley, galloped around the field during breaks instead of the extra practice Jemma had required, and, although she was convinced they'd fall behind when it came to the show, she grew jealous of the how much they were enjoying themselves.  Jemma could barely conduct accurately at the moment, so there was no way she'd let herself join her old section in flirting with the drum line during breaks.  Instead she sat in the shade beneath the bleachers, drinking her water and practicing the pattern with her arms.  She wouldn't let her poor drum majoring affect the whole band's placement at ATCU Marchingfest. Just as she began to panic about the biggest (and farthest away) competition of the season, someone sat beside her.

"How are you doing, Jemma?" Fitz asked her, offering a pencil as Jemma flipped through the score.

"Not so good.  I'm pretty sure everyone out there hates me," she admitted, accepting the pencil and marking down troublesome spots.

"None of them care enough about the show to hate you.  At least not yet.  We're all still learning."

Jemma snickered.  "I don't learn things, Fitz.  I know them.  This shouldn't be happening to me, I think something's wrong with my brain."

"You're... joking?" Fitz asked, trying not to seem amused.

"I've heard myself to be incapable of jokes," Jemma muttered in reply, scratching down a note in capital letters.

"Jemma," Fitz tried, but she threw the pencil down and closed the score.

"I think we should end the break early."  She left Fitz in the dust without hearing another word of objection.

He approached her later in the band room during lunch break, neglecting the brass' daily chair-fort-building and his girlfriend's latte-sipping friends for her lonely corner on the floor.

"Did you want a chair?" he asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder to the half-finished mound of black plastic.

"I'm fine," she replied with a courteous smile before tearing the crust from her sandwich.

"Prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella?" Fitz asked, taking a seat opposite her.

"With a hint of homemade pesto aioli," Jemma added, swiping a finger across the condiment and sucking it into her mouth.

"So you're an aioli girl, huh?"

She let out a small laugh before striping her tongue up and down the digit and moaning exaggeratedly as Fitz laughed.

"So classy," he commented as she finished her show.

"Only the most well-mannered little girls are aloud fancy sandwiches in the Simmons household," Jemma deadpanned before taking a bite of her sandwich.

Fitz grinned before pulling out his lunch and unwrapping his own sandwich.  "Well, mine's missing the aioli, but I'd love for you to..." he leaned forward and shoved the sandwich in his mouth in a suggestive manner. "show me how. Make my sandwich sufficiently moist, Jemma." She pushed him over before he started making obscene noises.

"Dork."

"Says you," Fitz retorted, smiling as he sat back up. They are in silence for several moments before Fitz brushed the crumbs off his hands and held eye contact with her.

"You remember what you said earlier? About your brain being broken?" She rolled her eyes.

"I was just overheated and frustrated, Fitz," Jemma insisted before finishing off her own sandwich. "I've got it now, I promise."

"Good. Because Jemma, you're actually the smartest person I've ever met, besides me." She chuckled and tossed her wrappers in the bin a few feet away.

When she sat back down he was staring at her like he didn't know what to do. She was about to suggest they start rehearsal again when Fitz brought his hand to her knee. "Really, Jemma. Your mind is the most beautiful thing. It's not broken, and if it is, well, then the rest of us are screwed." His mouth stayed open for awhile after that, jaw moving up and down like a fish's while Jemma memorized the exact shape of his fingers curled around her leg. Their eyes stayed locked more due to the overwhelming sense of paralyzing fear than an affection for one another.

"Hey, babe, it's a quarter to one," Kate interrupted sharply from behind Fitz, and he smoothly slid his hand from her kneecap to his empty lemonade can.

"Thanks, love," Fitz replied, turning away from Jemma without another word. "Best go round up the band, huh?" she heard him tell Kate as they walked away, holding hands as though his fingers hadn't just been latched onto someone else.

She shook her head and stood, doing her part to clear out the band room as Fitz and Kate worked on emptying the commons.

"Yes, I promise we'll keep the fort up overnight," Jemma said, quite annoyed with this particular trumpet player's concern for furniture architecture. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, Fitz's name popping up on the screen.

Hey, forgot to mention this yesterday, but it's your turn to vacate LanceBob

Jemma sighed.  LanceBob was the most popular 'marching band couple' on Twitter, and famous for being consistently late for practice because they were too busy making out in the practice room.  When they weren't busy screaming at each other, anyways.  Lance was the fifth chair trombone player, barely, and Bobbi was probably the most talented member of drum line.  She didn't have too many problems with Bobbi's hard-working attitude, but she did not like Lance.  Half the time at football games Lance sat behind the locker rooms with an arrangement of near-dropouts and drank.  Heavily.

He usually cleaned up for band, at least, and Jemma hoped she could interrupt them quickly and easily without too much scorn.  When she knocked on the practice room, however, there was no response.  Just the thud of someone being pushed against the door and a mess of blonde curls appearing in the small window frame.  Jemma tapped out a few messages to Fitz while trying to problem solve.

You owe me.

God, his tongue is halfway down her throat! How do I make it stop?!

She was staring frustratedly at their smushed faces when her phone buzzed.

Use that beautiful brain of yours, aioli girl.

Jemma rolled her eyes and stared hesitantly at the doorknob.  With a deep breath to brace herself, she opened the unlocked door and LanceBob spilled out into the band room, saliva smeared all over their faces.

"Oi!" Lance shouted as he scrambled to his feet, rubbing the back of his head.

"Oi yourself!" Jemma shouted back, earning a laugh from Bobbi.  The blonde sprung to her feet easily and gave Jemma an encouraging look.  "Rehearsal's already started, now get out there," Jemma managed with a fire truck red face before turning and exiting as quickly as possible.

Halfway across the parking lot, her phone buzzed.

Record timing, aioli girl.

She smiled and began typing out a reply when her phone buzzed again.

You've got real talent, Jemma. :)

She knew it wasn't anatomically correct, but she swore her heart skipped a beat.